


Peek-a-BOO!

by DeVereWinterton



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff may have occurred by accident, Halloween, Ouija, Paranormal Investigators, who you gonna call
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 09:19:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16426649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: It’s almost Halloween, and our favourite detective duo is on the case! A haunted mansion, supposed apparitions and a seance that would impress Mrs. Bolkonsky.An invisible manSleeping in your bedWho you gonna call?Well, not these two, that’s for sure.Takes place between s03e05 and e06. BecauseNGHthe flirty percussor-related banter is mylife.





	Peek-a-BOO!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leafingbookstea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafingbookstea/gifts).



> For leafingbookstea, because I have it on good authority that she has to miss this blessed Halloween holiday (because she is on a plane to *cough* somewhere, and she really doesn’t even deserve my pity but OH WELL), and I figured this might cheer her up.
> 
> Tackle-hugs go out to 221A_brina for the beta and to Allison_Wonderland for the read through (and for feeding the plotbunnies).

 

 

For the umpteenth time since Jack Robinson had made the acquaintance of one Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, he wondered what in the world he’d gotten himself into. Or perhaps more accurately, what she had gotten the _both_ of them into. Then again, these days it took very little persuading on her part to convince him to join her on whatever endeavour she’d come up with; it was almost embarrassing. Just the other day, when she’d suggested psychoanalyzing him, it had taken all of his willpower to propose a more intimate setting, rather than giving into temptation and kissing that enticing smile right off of her mouth in her Aunt’s garden.

She was bewitching.

Jack knew he’d fallen under her spell long ago, presumably not unlike many men before him. He supposed those men had been made of stronger stuff, seeing as they’d all walked away, whereas Jack found himself utterly entranced by every part of the infuriating, beautiful woman.

Several days ago, a report had come in of a body that had been found in Red Hill, a small hamlet just southwest of Melbourne’s city limits. Technically, it was outside of Jack’s jurisdiction as a Melbourne police officer, but because these small towns lacked their own police force, he’d been asked to take the case.

He hadn't even thought twice about asking Miss Fisher along for the ride. If she was going to be there, at least she would ensure it was going to be a _fun_ ride.

(He was currently and seriously second-guessing that thought.)

 

***

 

By mere coincidence, the body had been found at Ivicke Hall by a local employee of the township who’d visited the property to look into the state of the house. It had fallen into disrepair, was in a bad state, and was on the list for possible demolition.

Ivicke Hall had, from the looks of things, once been a grand and stately mansion. It stood on top of a large hill where one could oversee the whole of the town, and even the next town over, if one would squint. Now, however, the house was abandoned and according to the man who’d found the body, no one dared to venture near the place.

Upon arrival, a constable had led them to a room at the back of the vast property. It had a semicircular annex with large, filthy windows that once would have offered a splendid view of the enormous garden.

According to Dr. Macmillan, the man had been dead for over a week, and the stench of the rotting corpse had been rather overwhelming. Poor Collins had retched in a hedge.

The victim had been stabbed over 50 times, and was placed almost carelessly in the middle of a large, painted circle on the floor. He’d bled out, but the blood had long gone dry. There were symbols in the outer circle that the detectives immediately recognised as zodiac signs. There were other symbols, more circles, lines… none of it made any immediate sense to either of them, but they knew they’d solve this riddle, sooner rather than later.

The state of the paint that had been used indicated that the circles had been drawn long before the poor sod had met his unfortunate ending; but still… why leave the body in the center? Had the killer done this on purpose? Was there a hidden meaning behind all of those symbols? Jack would have to wait for answers, as Collins was currently trying to decipher the remaining imagery down at the station.

They’d thought it best not to ask Miss Williams to assist Collins, especially because of her religious beliefs and their current suspicions.

They’d started their investigation by questioning the townspeople, all of whom claimed not to have seen or heard anything. This wasn't particularly suspicious, at least not yet, considering the house stood on a hill on the outskirts of the small town. The one thing that _had_ stood out to Jack, was the apparent fear in people’s eyes when they spoke of the house; no one would go near it.

He knew this fact had piqued the interest of Miss Fisher, especially when she suggested they come back the next evening to surveil the property and look around for anything suspicious. He wasn't convinced that this was entirely necessary, but then she looked at him like _that,_ flashing him a coquettish smile… and he’d agreed.

 

***

 

The house had been stripped of its furniture, which Jack conjectured had either been sold or stolen. He was aware that one of the chairs in Miss Fisher’s parlour was worth more than his annual salary, and he had come to appreciate the value of proper upholstery ever since discovering this little tidbit.

There was but a single large painting left, hanging in the hallway above the grand staircase; a portrait of the first owner of the house, Frederick Ivicke. The man had a certain presence in the oil painted brush strokes; his wavy hair was dark, and his brooding brow contemplative. His eyes were serious, and his stateliness was not unlike the manor itself during its heyday. He’d died of unknown causes, and it was said his grave had never been found. That his spirit was said to haunt the property... Jack should have known this would be catnip for someone like Miss Fisher.

When they’d first entered the premises to take a look at the crime scene, Miss Fisher mentioned she thought Mr. Ivicke very handsome. The only thing about that painting that looked good to Jack had been the silver plates in the background, filled with all kinds of extravagant delicacies. Food had once been used as a means to show off wealth, but seeing it merely reminded him that he was very hungry.

Did he have breakfast that morning? He honestly couldn’t recall.

Close to midnight the following day found them staking out the property, in search of any suspicious activity. He should have known she would include any _paranormal_ activity in their investigation. Miss Fisher _never_ did things by halves. It was one of the reasons why he loved her.

In his defense, the hamper Mr. Butler had packed for them had been distracting him from the Ouija board tucked under her arm. To his credit, it didn't surprise him in the least that she’d brought it.

Of course she owned one of those contraptions. _Of course_ she did.

Jack wasn’t unfamiliar with Ouija boards. He was aware it was a novelty that had migrated from the United States some years ago. Some of the lads had used them during the war as a divining tool to see if they could get in touch with the unfortunate young men who had passed away.

He wasn't sure how he felt about seeing one of these boards again.

 

***

 

They were standing in the room where the body had been found. The house was blanketed in dust and darkness, and though most of the blood had been cleaned up, the faintest trace of death and decay still lingered.

Phryne had proposed they have dinner in the center of the circle in order to see what all of the fuss was about, but because of his - _what had she called it? Ah, yes, ‘delicate sensibilities’_ \- she’d laid out the blanket next to the painted circle, on the creaky wooden floorboards.

While she unpacked the contents of the basket, he lit the six candles she’d brought, and placed them on both sides of the blanket. He dared her to comment on all of the lit candles when he caught her looking, but she just smiled knowingly at him.

On completing her task, she sat down, tucking her feet underneath her legs. She was wearing what he’d dubbed her ‘break and enter’ ensemble - a black blouse and trousers, this time, however, having forgone her customary beret. He tried to ignore how her shifting positions pulled the fabric of her trousers tight around her shapely thighs.

“While we’re here, I thought we might see if we be able to get in touch with Mr. Ivicke after we have a bite to eat,” she explained, nodding in the direction of the Ouija board. She piled cottage pie onto a plate, handing it to him as he sat down cross-legged opposite her on the blanket. He was relieved to find cutlery in the basket this time.

“And _I_ thought you would have had your fill of bogus seances after Mrs. Ballwarts came to your house, Miss Fisher.” He took a large bite of pie. Though he'd never admit it to anyone, it had tasted even better when he'd used his fingers.

“Ballwarts?!” she squealed in utter delight, her body shaking as she giggled adorably. “Oh, Jack! That’s terrible. That poor woman,” she scolded him, but the smile on her lips completely nullifying the severity of her reprimand.

He waited for the other shoe to drop, steadfastly ignoring the blush creeping up his neck as he took another bite.

“And it’s not bogus! You haven’t even tried it yet,” she blurted out, almost dropping her fork.

He couldn’t help himself; he chuckled at her utter indignation. He knew that they shared similar sentiments when it came to matters of the other realm, but he supposed he could humour her. She seemed so excited to try out this game, and really, what else was there to do to pass the time?

_Well..._

He immediately pulled the brake on that train of thought.

They ate in companionable silence, stealing covert glances at one another during the meal.

 

***

 

“I was asking around this afternoon. Did you know, the townspeople say Frederick Ivicke appears here from time to time, and stands in front of one of those windows to peer into the garden,” she informed him as they neatly packed the leftovers into the hamper (just in case there were mice around, of course).

They finished their patrol around the premises, looking for anything that might be out of the ordinary and had found… absolutely nothing.

“How do they know this, when those same people _insist_ no one ever dares to venture anywhere near this place? Let alone the back of the house?” he asked, ever the detective.

“Jack, honestly, must you be so deliberately obtuse?”

“I am a man of science, Miss Fisher. If I see it, I’ll believe it,” he said as he looked out of one of the windows.

She huffed in annoyance, then sat down, busying herself by grabbing the Ouija board and glaring holes into his back.

Jack checked his wristwatch as he paced the room, eyeing the circle to his right with mild suspicion.

“It’s almost midnight. Shouldn’t the ghosts be coming out to play?”

She pointedly glared at him from under her fringe.

“Don't be silly, Jack. Everyone knows the witching hour is at three in the morning.”

“And why is that, Miss Fisher?”

“If ghosts have a sense of humour it should be to mock the holy trinity,” she muttered darkly, setting up the board.

He snorted at her blunt remark, forever grateful that they’d left Miss Williams at home.

“You seem to know an awful lot about this,” he remarked, regretting it almost immediately when he spotted the sly smirk that crept onto her face.

“Yes, well, I once met a man in Romania. Interesting gentleman,” she mused, “with very… _peculiar_ tastes. And he--”

“Yes, _alright_ , Miss Fisher,” he spoke through clenched teeth, not quite ready to find out more about yet another ‘old friend’, so soon after Compton.

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, he sighed; he felt a sudden headache coming on.

 

***

 

The flickering candles cast grotesque shapes upon the walls, looming figures dancing around the two detectives.

The duo were sat on the blanket once more, sipping the wine Phryne had brought.

She had set up the board so the letters were facing him, which made explaining the workings of the board to him that much easier. As he understood it, ghosts or spirits (and God only knew what else) were expected to answer a question with ‘YES’ or ‘NO’, or to spell out short answers using the alphabet and numbers on the board.

Phryne put her right hand on top of the planchette, then looked up at him, her face filled with excitement, her eyes sparkling.

_She looks so lovely in the soft candlelight._

“Now, put your hand on top of mine,” she instructed with a faint nod.

He hesitated.

“I won’t bite, Jack,” she joked.

He seriously doubted that statement, and felt the inadvertent rise of an eyebrow.

“ _Well_ , not unless you--”

“ _Miss Fisher_ ,” he coughed.

“Surely a man who is familiar with a percussor won’t blush at the mere mention of _teeth_ , Inspector?” she smouldered at him.

Jack blushed.  

 

***

 

Jack Robinson liked Phryne Fisher. Loved her, even, but this was simply ridiculous, not to mention a complete waste of time. After introducing themselves to the spirits - with Jack protesting vehemently only to have Miss Fisher seductively glare him into submission - they explained their business here. Nothing had happened so far, and Jack was bored out of his mind. The only thing holding his attention was her warm, small hand underneath his, and how he could feel their pulses, beating as one.

Surely she felt it too? He wondered if her pulse was beating even more strongly in the elegant column of her throat. Suddenly, he wanted to feel it under his tongue.

“I was wondering, Mr. Ivicke, if you’re there… are you a bachelor?” she called out, and Jack was startled by her voice, pulling him out of his reverie. He instantly knew she’d asked this particular question because she was annoyed that he hadn't been paying attention in the least and was making a mockery out of the whole thing, on top of that.

Before he could even think, Jack was resolutely moving their joined hands towards ‘NO’.

“You moved your hand!” she whispered accusingly.

“Isn’t that the point of this farce?” he asked, raising his voice.

“Yes. No! You’re not supposed to do it yourself!” she explained impatiently, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Then who is? The ghost of Frederick Ivicke?” he groused, clearly exasperated.

“Possibly,” she agreed. “You’re not _jealous_ of a ghost, now are you, Inspector?” she goaded him, a smug smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.

He would not give her the satisfaction.

“I doubt even the dead could resist your… _charm_ , Miss Fisher, let alone the living.”

She wasn't sure if he was having a go at her or not, but decided to take it as a compliment either way.

“Careful, Inspector. You might make Mr. Ivicke jealous if you carry on like that,” she purred. “Besides, you have many wonderful qualities and attributes that would recommend you to any woman,” she carried on, running a finger seductively up the back of his hand, tracing a thick vein with her nail, causing him to swallow audibly.

“A pulse?” he rasped dryly.

“Jack.” An exasperated sigh.

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you ask the next question?”

“Me?”

“Do you see anyone else in this room named ‘Jack’? Because if so, I’d have to tell you it’s terribly rude not to mention this apparition to me,” she snapped.

He resisted making a face at her, but couldn't stop the small twitch of his lips as he tried to suppress a smile at her direct delivery.

“Go on then,” she egged him on as she leaned back, daring him to back down now.

“Fine,” he grunted. “Mr. Ivicke? If you’re there, would you mind showing yourself?”

Phryne rolled her eyes.

“What did I do now?” he hissed.

“You can’t just _ask_ for a ghost to show itself, Jack! That’s not how this board works. Honestly, were you paying attention at all when I explained this to you?”

To be fair, he _had_ been rather distracted by the way her breasts had moved underneath her black blouse when she’d leaned over the board to explain everything to him.

“Well, why don’t you do it then, if you know how to do it so well?” He knew it was a childish move on his part, but this place was making him feel uncomfortable.

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

_“Fine!”_ she cried out definitively in frustration, wanting to have the last word and making it very clear that this conversation was now over.

He would have taken her threatening demeanour seriously if there hadn't been a flicker of amusement, dancing in those lovely eyes.

 

***

 

Phryne had come up with all kinds of questions for the ghost in the last fifteen minutes. Nothing had happened, and she’d slumped in defeat and annoyance. Even though she’d made it clear that she was of the opinion that Mrs. Bolkonsky had been a fraud at the time, Jack had a nagging suspicion that the child inside of her had hoped something might happen tonight. Not wanting to see her upset, he made an effort to cheer her up.Jack started asking the ghost questions, and had deliberately moved their hands to answer them, making sure she was aware of what he was doing. She’d smiled in approval, and raised a challenging eyebrow; from there on out, the game was on.

It was rather fun, actually. Miss Fisher had an endless imagination, and he couldn't help but wonder if that creativity extended to other… aspects of her life. He supposed he could see the meaning behind this board now. They were making up the story as they went, together.

They discovered Mr. Ivicke had not been a bachelor at all - to Phryne’s disappointment - but had been married three times. He was born in 1756 and the house dated back to 1780, when he’d bought the land and had commissioned for the building of the mansion.

Mr. Ivicke also enjoyed gratin, disliked bicycles, and was rather fond of tennis.

It was her turn to ask a question.

“Should Jack Robinson share his secret stash with Phryne Fisher?” she asked, laughing.

A very definite ‘NO’ (eliciting a pout on her lovely red lips).

“Are you of the opinion that Phryne Fisher is far too curious for her own good?” he inquired, his face impassive save for one corner of his mouth that tilted upwards.

‘YES.’

She took a moment to ask her next question, as if weighing her options.

In this light, her skin looked delicate like porcelain, a sharp contrast to the strong woman just bubbling below the surface. Her red lips were calling to him, as was the enticing slope of her neck, her collarbones, the heaving of her chest, her pert nipples, the heat of her c--

“Do you think the Inspector here has more favourable attributes than you do, Mr. Ivicke?” She both sounded and looked as though she was tasting every word of that sentence, and Jack found himself captivated by the sight until he realised there was a question that needed an answer.

Decisively, he moved their hands to ‘NO’, even though he could feel her protests.

“Well, I do,” she said tartly, batting her eyelashes at him, leaving no room for argument.

“Phryne, I--”

“Next question, Jack,” she pleaded with him in a soft voice, not wanting him to finish that thought.

He took a deep breath.

_Now or never, Robbo._

“Mr Ivicke, what is a noble man to do when he meets a woman who makes him want to be both an ignoble man, but also the best man he can be?”

For a second, he wasn't sure if he was still breathing. Their hands didn't move. He realised there wasn’t a straightforward, one-word answer to his question, and he seriously doubted either of them would be able to come up with a proper answer, even if it had consisted of a thousand words.

There were no words to describe what they were feeling for each other.

Placing her hand on top of his, she squeezed it, and he released a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. When he met her eyes, they were filled with both sorrow and wonder, and her brow was furrowed.

“Are you afraid to be with me, Jack Robinson?” she whispered.

He looked her in the eye, wordlessly moving their hands to ‘YES’.

He knew she was dying to know why and wanted to ask him, but those were not the rules of the game they were playing. The next question was his, and he figured he could help her along.

She was biting her lower lip in trepidation and it was very distracting, and all he wanted to do was to kiss it better. But not yet.

“Will I be just another man in a long line of old friends?” he asked, his voice reduced to a husky whisper as fear took a firm hold of his vocal chords. He felt perilously close to losing his rapidly dwindling nerve.

_What was he doing?!_

Placing her hand on top of his, she spelled out her the answer, and he looked down at the board to see the letters as they formed a word - ‘N-E-V-E-R.’

His mouth went dry. The back of her hand was damp.

They were both breathing heavily. His chest heaved as he tried to get his body under control, to no avail. He raised his head to look at her, and if he wasn’t deeply and utterly in love with her already, he would have fallen head over heels for her right then and there. Game and board forgotten, Jack knew they weren’t fooling anyone anymore, not even themselves.

“Would you like for me to kiss you, Miss Fisher?” he asked, voice hoarse and tight with desire. He had stolen a kiss once before; this time he wanted to be sure he had her permission.

She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek, reverently stroking his cheekbone with her thumb.

“More than anything, Jack Robinson,” she breathed in relief, and he smiled, surprise colouring his cheeks.

He held his breath as she leaned in, her eyes looking into his one final time before they fluttered shut. All he saw in them was love. It was so clear, almost painfully obvious, and he realised that it had been right there all along, that she had been feeling this way about him for quite some time already. He could feel her breath on his lips, warm like her touch. He tentatively reached for the back of her head and gently brought her face closer until their mouths met.

Her lips were soft against his, and surprisingly patient. He soon realised her slow, enticing movements were calculated, designed to arouse him, and he could feel himself grow hard. When she ran her tongue over his bottom lip, he groaned low in his throat before he deepened the kiss, fingers tightening in her hair.

Kissing Phryne was a heady, addictive thing, and he wanted more. More of her sweet taste, her almost tangible desire, her dewy heat. But their angle must have become uncomfortable for her back, because before Jack realised what was happening, she had pulled her lips away from his. It barely registered that she was blushing and panting, before she was almost clumsily clambering onto his lap, climbing over the Ouija board as it lay forgotten.

She smiled sweetly before eagerly reclaiming his lips in a searing kiss, wrapping her long legs around his waist and locking her ankles behind his back. He steadied her by putting his hands on her hips when she wound her arms around his neck. One hand found its way to her back. He felt a shiver as it ran through her body when she felt the evidence of his desire, hot and heavy between her thighs. She pulled him even closer, his lapels crushed between her clenched fists, and impatiently pushed her tongue between his lips.

He allowed himself to get swept away by the tidal wave that was Phryne Fisher. He felt like he was drowning in her, and to be honest, it felt so good he considered never coming back up for air ever again. Her hips started moving in sensual, tiny circles, and it was all he could do not to buck his hips into her. He bit her lip in retribution and he could feel her smile against his lips.

Phryne’s nimble fingers were working his tie, trying to pull the knot loose so she could take it off, but her hands faltered when he palmed her buttocks. He pulled back from her to take in her swollen lips, hooded eyes, and tousled hair before burying his nose in the crook of her neck, breathing in her unique scent. He knew they should stop, that they shouldn’t be doing this here, on the wooden floor in a room where a dead body had been found just over 24 hours ago. But for once in his life, Jack paid no mind to the sirens going off in the back of his mind. He was mesmerized by the way they fit together so perfectly. Her body moulded to his, her small breasts pressed against his chest, her glorious arse in his lap.

She was kissing him again, and when she sighed his name against his lips, it was filled with such love and longing, it melted his heart. She ran her hands over his chest, and when he gently pressed her down onto his erection, she gasped.

“What was that?” She tore her lips from his.

Now, Jack was pretty certain Miss Fisher had encountered an aroused man before, but--

“There it is again!”

_Yes, yes it is._

Oh.

_Oh._

She was talking about that shuffling sound coming from a room down the hall.

“It was probably a mouse, Miss Fisher,” he growled at her, encouraging her to grind down on him with his hands on her hips.

“But Jaaaaack,” she whined, his male pride revelling in the fact that she appeared to be rather out of breath. “Don’t you think we should investigate?” she purred at him in a deep voice, pulling on his lapels.

He raised his eyes to the ceiling; this was _exactly_ what he knew he’d be signing up for. What else should he expect?

“There’s plenty right here I’d like to investigate,” he grunted as he bent down to place hot, open-mouthed kisses along her throat, working his way down to where neck met shoulder.

“Inspector!” she exclaimed, acting scandalized. “Will you please focus on the case at hand?”

“I am,” he murmured against her skin, squeezing her arse for emphasis.

Her bitten-off moan was music to his ears.

“Jack, honestly!” she scolded him as she playfully slapped his shoulder. “Where’s your sense of adventure?

“It’s currently being rerouted south, Miss Fisher, as you are no doubt well aware.”

She gave a brief, teasing wiggle with her hips and his eyes rolled back in their sockets.

“Miss _Fisherrr_ ,” he groaned, closing his eyes, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“How about this, Inspector? If you follow me right now, I promise you that in a short time, you can show me all the things you can do with those talented hands of yours,” she mumbled into his neck, feathering it with kisses. She leaned in closer to purr in his ear. “And after _that_ , I’ll show you all the things I can do with my _mouth,_ ” she finished, licking the shell of his ear and biting the lobe.

With that, she got off of his lap, looking anywhere but at the bulge at the front of his trousers, straightened her blouse, and offered him a hand to help him up.

He took it, but before he got the chance to pull her back into his embrace and finish what they’d started, she was already walking down the corridor - hips swaying deliberately, he was sure - candle in one hand, gun in the other.

“Miss Fisher?” he called out once she turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

“Come after me, Jack Robinson?” she called back with glee.

He shook his head in resignation. Grabbing another candle, he got up and stepped into the darkness.

He loved her spirit, and he would follow her anywhere.

As he left the room, he missed the visible shifting of the planchette as it moved to ‘YES.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ivicke Hall, or Huize Ivicke as we call it here, is an actual abandoned mansion in the town of Wassenaar, the Netherlands. The name Frederick Ivicke is derived from the name of the man who bought the land in 1912, a Adrianus Frederikus Johannes van Hattum. He, in turn, had bought the property/terrain from princess Marie van Wied, who’d inherited it from her father, prince Frederik, son of king Willem/William I. I believe squatters currently reside there, who want to prevent the monument’s demolition. 
> 
> More images can be found [here](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-jlzY0LiSRAI/VvfWi-aaSBI/AAAAAAABYC0/qGlAdldTVFcmQDE7RqLnHOQJL6XNrpD9A/w2048-h1428/ivicke%2Bgeheel.jpg) and [here](https://i0.wp.com/hansfoto.files.wordpress.com/2018/08/ivicke.jpg?ssl=1&w=740).


End file.
